Chapter 6
Chapter Six
Raven crouched lower. Her pulse throbbed against her neck. Her brain screamed at her to flee. There was nowhere to go, no way to sneak out without drawing attention to herself.
The tranq gun pressed against her thigh, reminding her that she wasn’t completely helpless. Still, one dart gun against six rifles and several big-ass dudes with fists as large as her head wouldn’t do much.
Her best bet was to stay small and hidden, using the gun as a last resort.
“Now, let’s try this again,” the biker with the scorpion tattoo said. “Fill these backpacks with everything you’ve got.” He paused, a sly grin playing across his lips. “Please and thank you.”
“You can’t just come in here making demands and steal our stuff!” Carl scowled, his voice rising in fury. “That’s against the law!”
Ponytail half-turned, his hand shielding his eyes as if he were looking for something. “I don’t see any law here, do you, Scorpio?”
“There are no laws now,” said the biker with the scorpion tattoo. “No police, no judges, no courts. Nothing. It’s all gone to hell.”
“This is a civilized society!” Carl whined.
“Oh, I assure you we are quite civilized,” Ponytail said. Slowly, with exaggerated movements, he turned and hocked a massive loogie onto the floor. Scorpio laughed darkly.
Raven tensed. They were baiting him to entertain themselves, but Carl was too stupid and thick-headed to see it. They were cats playing with a meal before they bit the mouse’s head clean off.
Carl’s face purpled, his jaw pulsing. “You can’t go around stealing because you feel like it, taking a man’s livelihood right out from under him. It’s thugs like you who ruined this country in the first place!”
Several of the bikers stiffened. The lithe one’s smile dissolved. “Shut your fat ugly mouth and give us what we want.”
“I suggest you listen to Dekker,” Ponytail drawled.
Phil shot his son a warning look. “Carl.”
Carl ignored it. He pointed his finger at dancer-guy—Dekker’s—face. “You won’t get away with this, you filthy son of a—”
In one fluid movement, Dekker pulled a pistol from a holster at his hip and aimed it at Carl’s flat nose.
No surprise flickered in the bikers’ faces, no hatred or even anger.
Dekker’s expression was smooth, his black eyes dull and flinty.
“I’m hungry, tired, and I’ve had a long day. Test me one more time—”
Phil stuck both hands in the air. “We mean no harm. We’ll get you what you’ve asked for.”
“No, we won’t.” Carl was shaking, his eyes bulging, but he would not shut his stupid mouth. “We’re not letting you thieving scumbags steal what’s rightfully ours.”
He didn’t get that they were the predators, and he was the prey. He didn’t get that they wouldn’t have bothered with him if he’d stayed still and small, if he hadn’t turned aggressive himself, challenging their dominance—the one thing men like these would not let slide.
Scorpio sneered. “You little pissant.”
“You think you scare me?” Carl snarled. He started to reach for something beneath the counter—a baseball bat, maybe. Or maybe a rifle. “You come in here with your big guns and you think you can tell me what to do? Well, you’ve got another think coming, buddy, if you think—”
“Don’t do it,” Scorpio warned him.
“Carl—” Phil begged.
Carl reached for the hidden weapon.
Dekker shot Carl point-blank in the face.
The blast of the gunshot exploded against Raven’s ears. She clasped both hands over her mouth to keep from screaming.
Carl’s face disappeared in a mist of red. His body dropped to the floor behind the counter and hit the tile with a thud. Blood splattered across the counter, nearby shelves, and the sunglasses rack. Red droplets sprayed Phil’s pristine white lab coat, his face mask, and his white puff of hair.
Phil stood frozen beside his son’s body, his arms still raised in supplication, his eyes wide and startled.
A gasp escaped Raven’s lips. Shock went through her like an electric charge.
They’d just killed someone. They’d murdered Carl for no good reason at all.
Her pulse thumped loud in her ears. Acid burned the back of her throat.
She’d watched a man die while she hid. Did that make her a coward? Hot tears stung her eyes.
Covering her mouth with one hand, Raven shrank back against the shelves, accidentally bumping the lowest one with her knee. A shampoo bottle wavered, about to crash onto the tile. She managed to grab it before it fell.
She held her breath, her heart thumping, but no one turned around. No one but Phil knew she was there. The bikers had their backs turned when she’d walked in. They’d been busy emptying the vending machine, so loud they likely hadn’t heard her, either.
Scorpio grunted. He wiped a faint spray of blood off his face with the flap of his shirt. He looked at Dekker with a disgruntled scowl. “Did you have to do that?”
“I did,” Dekker said, his face impassive. “He offended my… honor.”
Scorpio shook his head. “There will be talk about this. Vaughn won’t be pleased.”
Dekker swiveled and pointed the gun at Phil. He sneered, his features twisting in derision. Something was missing, something empty in his gaze. His eyes were dull as lead. “We'd better not leave any witnesses, then.”
“I’ve got this,” said a younger guy she hadn’t noticed until now.
He’d hung back, silent and watchful. Metal glinted at his lip and brow.
Several intricate tattoos inked his arms. He looked to be about twenty, tall and lanky, with a head of short russet-red hair.
His narrow, pointy face and cunning eyes reminded her distinctly of a fox. A very handsome fox.
The fox lifted the rifle that had been slung over his shoulder and aimed it at Phil. “Get what we asked for, or you’ll regret it.”
“You heard Damien.” Dekker’s lip curled in faint amusement. He holstered his gun. “I’ll have him blow your kneecaps, then your ankles, then your hands, one by one, and then we’ll watch you bleed out and die like a stuck pig. Or, do what he says, and maybe you’ll live to bury your ugly son.”
Raven waited, every muscle taut, fear and adrenaline pumping through her veins. Phil turned without a word. Trembling, he bagged the remaining medications. A couple of bottles fell off the counter and rolled onto the floor.
“Faster!” Damien snarled, gesturing with the gun.
Dekker slapped Damien on the back, grinning. “Looky there. The young pup is coming into his own!”
Damien gave a hard little grin as if he was enjoying this. They all were. “Get the damn meds, old man.”
Minutes felt like hours. Finally, the bikers got what they wanted. Phil crammed the last of the bottles and boxes into the backpack. Every step he took, he was forced to walk in Carl’s blood. His whole body was shaking. His face drained of color. He looked like a ghost. “That—that’s it.”
Damien cursed at him. The other men laughed, jeering and mocking.
Phil cowered. “Please,” he whispered. “Please don’t hurt me. Please.”
“You’re just a pathetic old man.” Damien leaned over the counter and jabbed the barrel of the rifle hard into Phil’s chest.
From her hiding place, Raven cringed, half-expecting him to shoot Phil for the fun of it.
Phil went rigid, closing his eyes, as if he expected the same thing.
Maybe a part of him wanted it, so he wouldn’t have to bear the pain of living in a shattered world without his son.
Despite his fear and grief, he did not look in Raven’s direction or reveal her presence.
Her free hand drifted toward the tranq gun sticking up from her pocket.
It used a pressurized gas system that utilized carbon dioxide in an air-driven system to launch the darts from up to 150 feet.
She could hit one of these thugs easily, take him down.
Maybe she’d get two or three before they discovered her and did worse to her than to Carl.
Only tranquilizers didn’t work right away, not like in the movies. The potent levels of xylazine in each dart would stop a human heart, but not necessarily before one of them strangled her to death.
She couldn’t fight them all. Carl was beyond saving. Was Phil? Her hand tightened on the gun. Was she brave enough to try to save him, after his kindness toward her and her father? Could she stand by and let another innocent person die?
Her muscles tensed. She hunched even lower. No. She was a coward. She would do what her father had said. She would stay small and invisible to save herself.
Damien poked Phil again in the chest, but Phil didn’t respond. He stood, still and silent, waiting for whatever would come next—death, or the next agonizing breath, the next minutes and hours in a world bereft of his son.
Raven prayed fervently, mouthing the words over and over: Just go away, leave, and go away. Don’t hurt him. Don’t hurt him. Don’t hurt him.
Growing bored, Damien turned away with a dismissive sneer. “He’s not worth the round. This place stinks. Let’s go.”
The bikers stomped from the pharmacy, knocking the few remaining items off the shelves, bulging backpacks slung over their shoulders.
Raven shrank back, heart roaring in her ears, but none of them bothered to look around. They strode through the front door. The bell jangled maniacally.
After a minute, their motorcycles roared to life. The sound of engines was almost eerie after weeks of quiet. They peeled out of the parking lot and disappeared in a glut of dust and whooping shouts.
Raven forced herself to stand, her legs wobbly, and rushed to the counter. On the other side, Phil squatted on the tile floor next to his son. He cradled his head in his hands, weeping.
It was a private moment, one she had no part of. She backed away to give him privacy. There was nothing anyone could do for Carl.
She tugged her phone from her pocket and had to punch in the numbers three different times before she finally managed to hit 911.
“Service cannot be reached,” the phone chimed.
She tried again and got the same answer. She tried the local police and the county sheriff. Still nothing. She swallowed hard. What had she expected? It was one thing to hear something over and over and quite another to live it. Now, she believed.
It felt like the floor was cracking open beneath her, and she was falling, falling, falling, with no bottom in sight. It was true, then. There really was no more law, no more police. Here, at least. Maybe everywhere. Probably everywhere.
Phil rose stiffly to his feet. He wiped at his stricken face with the back of his hand. He stared dully at his streaked fingers, stained with his son’s blood. “You should go home. Stay there. This is no place for a girl.”
She wanted to say this was no place for anyone. What the hell did being a girl have to do with the rampant destruction of society and the mass extinction of all mankind?
Her words turned to ash in her mouth. She wanted to comfort him, but there was nothing to say, nothing that would make a difference against this meaningless act of violence.
Instead, she nodded mutely, turned, and ran from the shadows of the store into the late afternoon sunlight. The street was utterly empty. Not a single living soul was in sight. A couple of torn plastic bags skittered across the sidewalk.
She reached the car and dug into her pocket for the keys, still holding the useless phone in one hand.
The back of her neck prickled. Someone was watching her.
She glanced down the street to the left.
A block down, seven or eight motorcycles were parked in the overgrown grass in front of the bank.
The bikers were inside—they’d smashed the glass doors.
Except for one. Raven surreptitiously stuck her hand in her pocket and wrapped her hand around her gun.
A man stood directly to her left, half-hidden behind the stalled minivan so that she hadn’t seen him when she’d exited the pharmacy. Dekker leaned against his bike, smoking a cigarette in one hand, his pistol in the other, lounging languid as a cat poised to strike. His gaze was fixed on her.
Their eyes met for a brief, electric moment. His eyes were dull, lifeless, like hollow black pits. Inhuman. A shiver of fear raced up her spine.
“Well, well,” he said, “what do we have here?”